Use Me to Hurt Your Ex," the Mafia Boss Smirked…

Six months later.

The spring sun rose over the East River in a breathtaking, cinematic explosion of burning violet, deep copper, and brilliant, honey-colored gold that turned the waters of the harbor into fields of liquid fire.

Inside the Grand Exhibition Rotunda of Sabbes on York Avenue, the atmosphere was alive with the thrumming, joyful vitality of an institution that had reclaimed its sacred honor.

Four hundred art scholars, international museum curators, cultural attachés, and journalists from across the world had gathered beneath the soaring glass atrium for the public opening of the Flavian Heritage Restitution Exhibition.

The sixteen Roman marble busts, completely restored and cleansed of their toxic composite plugs by a team of master Italian conservators, sat mounted on pedestals of polished Carrara marble, illuminated by warm, museum-grade downlights that highlighted every delicate chisel stroke of the ancient sculptors.

Standing beside the central pedestal of Emperor Domitian was Alex.

At thirty-one, she took the breath from the room.

She wore an impeccably tailored ivory silk wrap dress from Celine that accentuated her slender frame, her dark hair swept into an elegant, unyielding chignon, her hazel eyes bright with radiant health and an undisturbed, sovereign peace. Around her neck hung a delicate gold chain supporting a single, hand-carved Roman coin depicting the goddess Minerva—a personal gift from the Italian ambassador that had been presented to her at the consulate yesterday afternoon.

Beside her stood Harold Vance, holding a leather-bound catalog, his face glowing with paternal pride as he looked out over the crowded gallery.

"The Italian minister signed the five-year bilateral research partnership forty minutes ago, Alexandra," Harold said, his voice rich with emotion. "Sabbes has been officially designated as the primary North American inspection gateway for all classical antiquities. Not a single stone enters this country without your department's certification."

"It’s an iron protocol, Harold," Alex smiled, her fingers lightly caressing the marble base of the pedestal. "No shortcuts. No offshore nominations. The truth stays in the provenance."

The crowd parted near the grand entrance of the rotunda.

Stepping through the glass doors, dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal three-piece suit from Savile Row, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets, his dark hair catching the morning sun, was Julian Thorne.

He didn't carry an armed escort. He didn't carry a weapon.

He walked down the center aisle with the slow, measured, majestic cadence of a man who owned the city, stopping three feet from where Alex stood beside the ancient emperor.

Harold Vance smiled, offered Julian a respectful, solemn nod, and excused himself to greet the cultural delegation from Rome.

Julian looked at the Roman bust, then looked down at Alex, his ice-gray eyes softening into an expression of deep, untouchable devotion that had never been seen in a corporate boardroom.

"A magnificent exhibition, Chief Curator," Julian murmured, his deep baritone rolling warmly across the quiet gallery.

"A very good exhibition, Mr. Thorne," Alex smiled, her lips curving into a radiant arch that illuminated her entire face.

She reached out, her warm, slender fingers sliding into his, feeling the familiar, calloused strength of his hand close around hers with unbreakable permanence.

"The federal court in Manhattan finalized the Kensington bankruptcy forty minutes ago, Julian," Alex said softly. "The entire partnership has been dissolved. The sixty-story tower on Park Avenue was acquired by our logistics trust at ten o'clock."

Julian laughed—a deep, booming sound that rose into the glass dome like a church bell ringing after a long siege.

"We’re turning the forty-fourth floor into a free public arts library, Alexandra," Julian said, his thumb gently tracing the knuckles of her right hand. "The children from the Brooklyn docks will be studying Roman history in the exact office where Preston Ward forged his ledgers."

Alex looked into his eyes, her heart overflowing with a peace that was deep as the ocean and unyielding as the stone beneath their feet.

"The Bear is becoming remarkably civic," she teased gently.

Julian stepped half an inch closer, his shoulder brushing hers, his breath warm against her temple.